


Playing With Fire

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Devil May Cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-02
Updated: 2005-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-25 06:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1635956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dante keeps the cold at bay, warmed by the demon Ifrit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing With Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Nyx

 

 

Snow fell heavy and thick around him, forming a wall of impenetrable white. His breaths were puffs of silvery air in front of him, as fine as the hair that fell damp and white in his face, as Dante made his way slowly up the winding path that would lead him to his destination. An old mansion that had been overrun by demons when the master of the house bit off more than he could chew.

The snow surrounded him, blew in his face and clothed the world in white silence. But Dante remained a splash of color, a livid red against the colorless winter. Steam hissed where snowflakes fell upon his coat and the crackling sword strapped to his back. It could not even turn to ice, so warm was the man that melted the snow falling around him. Part of it was his own natural heat, but most of it radiated from the gauntlets he wore as both weapon and shield, covering his hands and forearms in metal so hot an ordinary human would melt simply from standing too close. The gauntlets that bound the demon Ifrit.

They were heavy on his arms. Not so heavy they were a burden, but heavy enough he couldn't ignore them, was always aware of their presence. And it was a hot weight, gauntlets of fire that ensured he was never cold, scorched his enemies and turned them to ash. But left Dante unharmed, because for the time being Ifrit had decided the half-blood was worthy of his obedience and power. It was a presence he welcomed, was quietly comforted by.

Dante loved the gauntlets, loved the feel of fire in his blood and surging from his hands to lay waste to those monsters that could not stand the heat. The heavy feel of them on his hands and arms, the constant warmth as he crunched through the desolate ice and snow that surrounded the old manor he'd been hired to rid of demons. Ifrit was fearsome, and not to be tamed, but he seemed content with Dante, and Dante was definitely pleased with the fire leant to him. Ifrit was always hungry for a fight, and never less than reliable when the battle finally began.

And sometimes, on nights like this where he would be forced to sleep in the field, away from his own bed and only his weapons for companions and comfort...sometimes, when the gauntlets were kept on or remained close by...sometimes the fire felt more like flesh.

Away from the bitter cold and snow-drenched wind, safe from the demons he would slaughter tomorrow, Dante allowed himself to be lost somewhere between waking and sleeping. Waves of heat washed over him, blocking out what little awareness he still had of the real world. Scorching fingers raked through his hair and over his face, pushing impatiently past leather and linen, tossing aside the impediments Ebony and Ivory. The fiery demon left phantom burns on his chest and stomach as, stroking and teasing, before he replaced his hands with a wetter, much hotter heat that left Dante aching and burning, gasping for more.

He reached out to explore the burning figure above him, stroking heavy hair and dark flesh that was nearly too hot to touch, mouth tasting sweat and salt and something that was pure demon, and the faintest trace of ash. Licked and sucked and nipped in his turn, exploration interrupted only by his own gasps as the demon greedily explored Dante's body.

Always they were surrounded by the dark; the only light came from the fiery demon above him. Ifrit grinned, eager and hungry, before that too-hot mouth took his, determined to take all that he could from a master willing to give it. His tongue flicked out to taste deeply of Dante's mouth, so cool when compared to Ifrit's, but quickly warmed beneath the demon's ministrations, almost to the point of pain. Dante took the hot, heady kisses and gave them back full measure, as hungry to give as to take.

The kisses always left him feeling raw but aching for more, as the burning demon continued his exploration, sharp teeth nipping at heat-reddened flesh, tongue flicking out to sooth but not cool. Hands rapidly divesting him of the rest of his clothes, cupping and stroking and setting Dante on fire, Ifrit roaring as his own pleasure was found, and they collapsed together, trembling and hot.

When Dante woke, he felt momentarily cold. It was in that brief chill that he was always reminded of all the warmth he'd lost. The family taken from him, a brother and mother corrupted by the demons he worked tirelessly to kill. The life he didn't have, because he was awkward in the realm of humans and despised in the land of demons. The friends he never had, because what room was there for them in his violent, uncertain life? The lovers he never should have had for the same reasons, because in the end they all grew tired or scared of him. The bitter chill of killing demons who in different circumstances might have called him brother, but instead hissed his name in hateful whispers. The icy feeling of doing something that precious few ever appreciated.

But then the gauntlets woke from their own slumber, and the welcome heat began to pump through his veins. Dante rose and stretched and left his temporary hideaway to find that the snow had ceased to fall and the house he sought was not so far away. He checked and holstered his oldest lovers, Ebony and Ivory, and swung the crackling Alastor onto his back. He flexed his arms, enjoying the familiar weight of the gauntlets and the way Ifrit's fire rose up, eager for battle and blood. And the chill of waking was forgotten, as Dante continued on toward the house, to throw himself into the chaos and fire he so loved to play in, loved to let sear and burn him, because as long as he was hot, he wasn't cold.

 


End file.
